Tuesday, October 6, 2009

This is how much these insurance company scumbags love you - spousal abuse, in their eyes, should be deemed a pre-existing medical condition!

Sweet whining infant, do you love this?! The gnatty, hair-assed-balls of some!

Bam, right out of the gate, let's say that what these scheming, mucous-munching scumbags would immediately do is send the battered women back into the depths of underground; back to the silent "I hit my head, arms, and face on the doorjam" misery with such a practice. Which, feeling the pinch, insurance companies will surely start using this unstated out-clause, unless a law is enacted to stop such a practice before it becomes common-place; one more lepperous thing we learn is afoot, after the fact, of course.

"They really do that?"

"You didn't hear? Oh yeah, they do that now....happened to a friend of mine."

There they are on the idiot cube, yesterday afternoon, mouthpieces of big insurance spouting this undigestable dog-shite, fighting against such a pre-emptive law, as if it were an ineliable right of insurance carriers to turn people away, despite the client having paid up in full on their policies!

"Well then Mrs. Moore, it appears as though you've a great big shiner there. Now, now, no use denying it: he's hit you hasn't he, and our statistics indicate that a first time to the emergency room equates to roughly three point five times, nothing was reported or the damage was less-severe. Well, there, there missus, up you go, and out the door."

The practice reeks of a scene from an old Brendan Behan play, set somewhere in the poor slums of Dublin in the early 1900s. Fitting for the times in which we find ourselves. All the sad tale lacks is a trip down the block to the drunken priest in the confessional who bids the woman "can ye not be soooo confrentayshunal, Sheila? Ye knows how yez gets!"

Because BASICALLY YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN HE WAS ABOUT TO BEAT THE living TAR OUT OF YOU, SO IF YOU END UP IN HOSPITAL, WELL IT'S YOU'RE OWN DAMNED FAULT AND OUT YOU GO IF YOU DON'T HAVE A PENNY BECAUSE INSURANCE WILL PAY NONE OF IT!

If there was ever a case made of the need for insurance reform it was this bit of awful, these goons have defecated out of the collective corporate mind/arsehole for us to look at yesterday afternoon in disgusted astonishment.

It was soooooo bad, they were backtracking on the later news shows. Now, now, let's all calm down!

Appauling. And their apologists, legislators from the south with that old-saw they used during the slavery days "states should decide how to regulate the industry."

It goes not only to the state of insurance, doesn't it? It goes to the utter war corporations are waging hand-over-fist to rape, by horrible, outsized means, the American individual. The one; the person, the citizen left goddamned pennyless, jobless, hopeless by this prolonged recession, brought on by anotherband of rapists, the deregulators of Wall*Street.

Speaking of which, and because big media is now a dickless, nut-gelded coward and never covered it, Michael Moore's movie, Capitalism, Love Story brought us the news that Wal*Mart and others were taking out insurance policies on little Mrs. Poo, bakery employee, counting on her and hundreds of thousands like her to FeCKING DIE rather than keep working, so that the company might earn on a greater than fifty percent chance of a payout.

Well isn't this ripe! THAT, ON A CRIME SHOW CONSTITUTES MOTIVE! Am I wrong?

Everything harkens back to those temples in Mexico City these days, you know, the ones with the damned blood on them?

Is there a time in history where it's okay to say JESUS FeCKING CHRIST?

Yes, that time has come my lovelies, so say it with me now, citizen: JESUS FeCKING CHRIST-ALMIGHTY-JONES!

It is indeed time we took our nation back from the lepperous corporations. Michael Moore is a good little Altar Boy.

I'm not. Like Mr. Moore said in his movie, 'I refuse to live in country like this: and I am not going anywhere.' Neither am I, and I am not nearly as well-behaved as Mr. Moore is. And I have really had enough now.

What is "My Bladder is Full"

My Bladder is Full is dedicated to the concept that in these difficult times, it is far better to be pissed off, than to be pissed on. Like it says in the title, "it's healthy to release."

My Bladder is not for the squeemish. And there is every chance that word is not spelled correctly. But it just might be. So I leave it.

My Bladder seeks out targets of the absurd, targets of self-importance, and the ... just a moment while my wife yells at me:there, all done ... corporately flattulent, and stabs them squarely in the balls with my rapier wit, bad, violent metaphors, and poor spelling.

I am the noisemaker at the back of the room, the malcontent who never grew up, and I will be heard.

Find What Fills My Bladder! From Glenn Beck to 2012

About Me

Editor David Kearns is the author of Where Hell Freezes Over (Dunne Books 2005) the non-fiction account of his father's plane crash and rescue during Naval Operation Highjump, Antarctica 1946/47.
He graduated from Florida Tech 1987 with a degree in Geological Oceanography. He spent two years in Honduras as a Peace Corps Volunteer (1988-90) working with small scale farmers and fishing cooperatives. His writing career began in 1994 working for weekly newspapers, then local dailies in Sebastian, Florida. David enjoys surfing, fishing and travelling to Ireland with his family.
DavidAnthonyKearns@Gmail.com